


Never in Your Wildest Dreams

by echoes_of_another_life



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We are the stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with sleep. William Shakespeare, The Tempest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never in Your Wildest Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Set between ‘First Impressions’ and ‘Dear Boy’

Never in Your Wildest Dreams

“Wesley I’m worried.” Cordelia rearranged the papers on the desk, glanced across at the stairs briefly then looked at Wesley. “He’s brooding again, he’s probably upstairs dreaming about her right now.”

“Cordelia, he needs time to come to terms with the fact that not only is Darla back but she’s human.” Wesley frowned, as Cordelia moved the papers she’d just arranged on the desk.

“Three weeks of which they've spent mostly upstairs, in his bedroom.” Cordelia looked at Wesley then nodded towards the stairs.

“Cordelia, what Angel experienced while Darla was with him, they were dreams, nothing more.”

“Dreams of Darla, I’d say that was more than nothing, Wesley.” Cordelia snatched the papers back from Wesley and began to arrange them in a pile once more.

Wesley sighed and massaged his fingers across tired eyes. “Dreaming is in integral part of our sleep, unfortunately it’s unavoidable.”

“Is that a fact?” Cordelia asked as she came around the front of the desk. 

“Yes, it provides necessary stimulation to the brain while giving us a safe and socially acceptable way to fulfil our desires.” Wesley watched Cordelia pace nervously around the hotel lobby.

“So you’re saying he desires Darla, great. Just great.” Cordelia threw her hands up in the air and continued to pace. “When he goes all grrr again and one of us has to stake him it will be comforting to know that.”

“I’m not saying he desires Darla, just that he’s been dreaming about her.” Wesley took a step back as Cordelia stopped her pacing and walked towards him.

“Okay, explain mister because usually when someone has dreams like the ones Angel’s been having it isn’t because they want to invite them out for tea and a walk on the promenade.” 

Wesley dodged the finger Cordelia poked in the vicinity of his chest and frowned. “Angel’s dreams were induced, they weren’t coming from his subconscious, or rather I don’t think they were. The memories may have been there but Darla tapped into them using some form of drug to open the door and let them out. She kept him sleeping while she controlled his memories, used them to her own gain, which can hardly be classed as Angel’s fault.”

“No, then why his he still obsessing about her now he’s awake and no longer under the influence?” Cordelia asked.

“I’m not sure,” Wesley muttered. “This is clearly speculation of course but some people have dreams where they are being taken care of, or loved very deeply, caressed, touched in a way that they crave but don’t usually experience. The dreams themselves may not be overtly sexual but they may well be vivid and significantly more detailed leaving the dreamer feeling very drawn to the person in the dream, to the one who is showing them affection. They can leave the person rather confused afterwards especially if the love interest in the dream is not a regular partner.”

“Wesley, I’d say a hundred and fifty years qualifies Darla as a regular partner wouldn’t you?” Cordelia asked.

“Normally, yes but these are exceptional circumstances, Angel killed Darla, she was Angelus’ partner not Angel’s.”

“Try telling that to Mr, I can’t survive on less than twenty one hours a day of sleep.” Cordelia moved back around the desk and fidgeted with the papers once more.

“Yes well, people often express a need for a loving experience that is absent from their waking lives. Cordelia, we all have dreams in which incongruous things happen with people we are not attached to in our real lives. It’s when those dreams haunt our waking moments that it is wise to take note of a possible message behind them.”

“Good, then we agree you should go talk to him.” Cordelia smiled.

“Me? But why … perhaps you should talk to him.” Wesley stuttered. “After all, you’ve known Angel longer than I, he’d more likely to listen to you than …”

Cordelia shook her head, pointed to the stairs and smiled sweetly. “It would be much better coming from you, besides you know so much more about it than I do.” Cordelia grabbed her bag from beneath the desk and looped it over her shoulder as she strode confidently across the Hyperion’s lobby and opened the door.

“Night Wesley …”

~*~

Wesley hesitated, his hand poised to knock on the open door and watched the confidence with which Angel manoeuvred the pencil across the page. The movement of his hand looked unhurried yet the pencil strokes were quick and fluid and seemed to be creating a variety of textures, the clarity of shade adding a visible tangibility to the portrait taking shape. 

Wesley took a tentative step closer, edged into the room where he could better see over Angel’s lowered head. Angel’s eyes were fixed on the page in front of him, his posture relaxed and his expression reflected a genuine interest as he angled his wrist and gripped the pencil between thumb and forefinger.

He watched the movements as Angel worked quickly and Wesley thought at times he looked almost like he was about to lose his grip on the page but he always recovered. Wesley held his breath as Angel’s expression changed, watched the frown that marred his features for a brief moment as he studied the lines the pencil had made, changed his mind, corrected himself then changed his mind again.

“What do you want, Wesley?” Angel sighed as Wesley watched the page fall to the floor, joining the different versions of each piece of work like an animated map of Angel’s thoughts.

“I …” Wesley hesitated, squared his shoulders and walked around to the front of Angel’s chair, carefully sidestepping the pieces of paper strewn all over the floor. “I came to see if you needed anything.” 

“I’m fine, Wesley. Go home.” Angel turned the page without looking up and began to ease the pencil smoothly back and forth across it.

“You’re still here,” Angel muttered still not taking his eyes from the page.

“Angel, what are you doing?” Wesley asked quietly.

“I’m using a mid tone pencil and thinking in terms of light and dark to craft a beautifully atmospheric likeness.” Angel smudged his forefinger across the paper as he spoke. “See, I’m gradually building up a smooth even layer of tone, working in a variety of different directions to even out the texture as much as possible. Then I’m going to draw in the darkest areas of the subject, with Darla that would normally be her heart but seeing as I’m focusing on her outer qualities I’ll concentrate on areas of shadow, check for reflected light.” Angel looked up at Wesley and shrugged.

“Angel, this isn’t healthy …” Wesley began.

“This is where I have to rely on a little artists licence, being that I’ve not had the opportunity to actually see Darla in natural light but it doesn’t matter.” Angel angled the pencil and blended the areas of tone, applying a lighter pressure to the paper as he continued. “A little curved highlight cutting across the pupil like so, a shadow under the lid or a little more detail to the iris can brighten the flat look to any person’s eyes.”

Wesley watched, waited for Angel to continue but nothing broke the silence of the darkened room but the pencil as it scratched out an image on the page, an image so realistic that Wesley was almost fooled into thinking that he was looking at an actual three dimensional female face rather than a two dimensional representation of one.

“Angel?”

“You have to be careful, you still have to capture the subject’s character by drawing the eyes accurately, careful observation is the key, observing the tiny details that help bring the subject to life. After all the eyes are the windows to the soul …” Angel trailed off and looked at Wesley. “We wouldn’t want to miss out that tiny detail, now would we Wes?”

Angel tore the paper from the pad and held it in hands. “It looks almost life-like, I think. Almost real … as if you could reach out and run your fingers along the warm curve of her cheek, feel the blood rise to the surface, see the faint blush appear at the sensation of your touch …”

“Angel. Don’t do this to yourself,” Wesley whispered.

“We obtain a sense of security in our ability to distinguish between what is real and what isn’t, when confronted with something that – if only for an instant – makes you question your perception of reality.” Angel let the paper slip from his fingers and settle on the floor at his feet.

“They were just dreams Angel, nothing more.” Wesley sat on the edge of the bed across from Angel and watched the confusion in his eyes as he sat back in the chair and turned his head in his direction.

“Were they, Wes?” Angel asked.

“Angel, sleep is characterised by very little physical activity and almost no awareness of the outside world. You couldn’t possibly have known Darla was here.” Wesley sat forward on the bed and watched Angel.

“I could smell her,” Angel answered; he lifted his chin slightly and inhaled. “Even now, I can smell traces of her.”

“Angel, our bodies tell us when we need to sleep; Darla was drugging you, inducing that effect. Learned knowledge is only retained during normal sleep, the drug alone will have affected your memory function, helping to create the illusion.”

“Only it wasn’t an illusion, was it Wesley, she was here, in this room, in that bed.” Angel watched as Wesley shifted on the covering, and his eyes wandered to the pillows, the tangled sheets evidence that Angel’s sleep was still disturbed, even now, days after the drugs had worn off.

“Yes, well …” Wesley coughed to clear his throat and looked away from Angel. “Many sexual dreams actually revolve around something that inhibits our sexual activity in waking life.”

“Wesley, if you’re saying the dreams were so vivid and satisfying because of the curse then believe me you’re wrong.”

“Were they? I mean they were satisfying, yes I expect they may well have been but while any dream can be fascinating, our sexual dreams can be particularly tantalising and wonderfully satisfying, enriching and pleasurable even, on the surface. It’s like eating chocolate without the calories, there’s no risk, no involvement and no consequences for indulging our desires.” 

“Wesley, I know what a sexual fantasy is, you don’t have to explain it to me like I’m a child.” Angel watched as Wesley began to look more and more embarrassed and thought he might have been slightly less uncomfortable if he hadn’t tried giving him a pep talk while fidgeting nervously on Angel’s bed. “In fact I’ve probably re-enacted more sexual fantasies then you could even fantasise about.” Angel smiled for the first time in almost a week and watched as Wesley continued to fidget.

“Yes, well, be that as it may ...” Wesley began as he shuffled back and almost sunk into the mattress. “As a stranger to socially determined notions of right and wrong the subconscious, the source of our … well erotic dreams for lack of a better word, works rather like a spectator of our behaviour. Occasionally offering up its opinion by making us do, during sleep what we repress subconsciously. In fact if the person having the erotic dreams tries to impose on himself an artificial sexual behaviour or identity an erotic dream might serve to remind him that what he’s doing goes against his deepest subconscious instincts.” 

“So you’re saying the reason Darla was able to seduce me so easily was because I’m sexually repressed, is that it Wes?” Angel shifted forward in his chair and watched as Wesley eased back further on to the bed.

“No, not exactly, however if you have, say urges to do … well certain things, then they are highly likely to emerge in your dreams where your conscience cannot prevent them from happening.” Wesley swallowed, watched the way Angel eased even further out of the chair until he was sat poised on the edge of the cushion and tried again.

“Look, I realise I’m not explaining this very well, it is rather a delicate subject after all but what I’m trying to say is that there is a big difference between a person’s waking sexuality and the sexuality displayed in dreams. The person’s day to day life may be sterile or barren …” Wesley hesitated when Angel arched one eyebrow in Wes’ direction.

“Sterile? Barren? Is that what you think I am Wes?” Angel rose from the chair and used the advantage of height to look down at Wesley.

“Not at all, that is to say … Angel, dreams of this sort are comparatively common; you shouldn’t read too much in to them.”

“I’m not the one doing the reading Wesley, in fact if memory serves me correct I was sketching, you’re the one doing the reading.” Angel walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress as Wesley shifted to the opposite side.

“Yes, well I just don’t think you should feel too responsible for the past week’s events, after all they weren’t of your making but if you felt a certain amount of release from … well tension of any sort then you shouldn’t feel bad about it. Dreams are a way of restoring the emotional equilibrium; they’re a safety valve that lets out any pent up frustrations or inhibitions.” Wesley felt the mattress dip as Angel edged closer, saw the way his eyes narrowed slightly and Wesley shifted his gaze and watched Angel’s hand as it straightened the covering between them.

“Inhibitions Wes? I’ve had centuries to overcome my inhibitions, not that I had all that many to begin with.”

“I see.” Wesley said nervously. “Well, inhibitions aside I think you should stop dwelling on the physical side of the dreams and concentrate on how they made you feel, where you happy or sad? Angry or scared? The atmosphere of the dreams is something you should maybe take note of, for example was it light and joyful or dark and foreboding? It could help.” Wesley rose from the bed and tried to put some distance between them.

“Aroused, they made me feel aroused, isn’t that how you’d feel having a naked woman writhing around on top of you whispering all sorts of things in your ear?” Angel shifted back on the bed and placed his hands either side of his hips as he leaned back and looked at Wesley.

“She was just reawakening memories Angel, it was recognition, that’s all, a memory recognised by certain stimulus, it’s assisted recall; a way of strengthening those memories already in your subconscious by awakening them. Our physical bodies are able to remember from past experience how to react, what to do.” Wesley finished.

“Does it make you uncomfortable Wes, the fact that I was aroused, that I enjoyed the dreams? That just the barest hint of her lingering scent has the ability to make me twitch in all the right places?” Angel asked as he rose from the bed and walked slowly over to where Wesley was standing. “Is that why you came up here, to convince yourself that my body was acting out of instinct and not because the woman who brought me out of the cold earth and cradled me in her arms was stretched out, naked on my bed?” 

Wesley took a deep breath and tried not to react to Angel’s nearness or his words, thinking of Angel aroused, seeing him this way was … Wesley had long since tried to convince himself that there was a huge difference between a person’s waking sexuality and the sexuality displayed in dreams, just as he told Angel. It was just his body reacting to his nearness, nothing more. He let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding and went still as Angel drew closer.

“A repressed sexuality is clearly not healthy, Wes.” Angel whispered.

Angel wasn’t touching him but Wesley could still feel his heat, Angel’s body seemed to reach out caress his own as a slow smile curved his sensual mouth and a look entered his eyes that Wesley was afraid to name. His gaze travelled over Wes’ face and touched his lips like a physical kiss.

Wesley swallowed and tried to gain some semblance of control as Angel lowered his head, his mouth touched Wesley’s hair in the lightest of caresses and Wesley stepped back and he felt the wall behind press roughly against his spine.

“What’s the matter Wes,” Angel breathed. “It’s only recognition, nothing to be afraid of, it’s a just a memory recognised by certain stimulus, remember? I’m strengthening those memories already in your subconscious by awakening them.” 

Angel moved closer, just a shifting of muscles but Wesley felt the warmth of his body and tried to inch away slightly only to feel the wall press harder against his back muscles as liquid heat began to pool unexpectedly in his stomach. Warmth spread through his skin, made it tingle and his mouth felt suddenly dry, he swallowed against the dryness building in his throat as he felt the electricity crackle between them.

The tip of his tongue touched his bottom lip and Wesley became acutely aware of Angel’s gaze as it followed the movement and the image of Angel’s large body tangled with his own was instant and vivid and his body reacted instinctively. His trousers suddenly felt too tight, the ache in his groin a sudden and urgent demand, he saw the look in Angel’s eyes become heated, purpose clear in their depths seconds before Wesley felt himself crushed into the wall.

Angel groaned, his fingers twisted convulsively at Wesley’s shirt, what had started out as a game, a way of proving to Wesley that it wasn’t just about instinct, that despite the curse he was still a man had suddenly taken on a whole new agenda and Angel felt his entire body react and burn with need. 

“Angel.” What was meant as a protest came out as a groan; Wesley stepped closer as Angel wrapped one strong arm around Wesley’s waist and pulled him against his hard frame. Despite every intention not to respond, despite that he believed Angel was still suffering the effects of the dreams Wesley’s body caught fire.

Angel brought his knee up slightly, pressed his thigh firmly against Wesley’s erection and smiled inwardly as he heard him groan, felt him push against him in response.

“Angel …” Wesley sighed, there was an ache in his voice, and it trembled slightly, sounded alien to his own ears. He didn’t mean for it to be there, it was just that Angel was so close, his larger frame enveloped Wesley and although they stood nose to nose in height Wesley suddenly felt much smaller. He glanced at Angel’s mouth just inches from his own, held his gaze as Angel lowered his head and Wesley’s hands shook as he reached up to pull him the rest of the way down.

Wesley was afraid to breathe, if he moved, if he sighed he was sure he’d wake up.

Angel felt Wesley’s heartbeat quicken, the ebb and flow of the blood running through his veins and ignored the remembered taste in his mouth, the feel of Darla beneath him, the way her body lifted and writhed against his, craved his, the feel of her skin, warm and inviting. He groaned and buried his face in the curve of Wes’ neck and closed his eyes against the image of her mouth, sensual and inviting as it mocked him, lured him. 

Wesley circled Angel’s shoulders with his arms and held him close, leaned into him, his breathing heavy, his hands smoothed down Angel’s back and Wesley felt Angel’s shoulders give as the weight against his chest increased. Angel’s tongue caressed Wesley’s throat, his body clenched in reaction and his arms tightened possessively.

Angel pushed against Wesley with fierce hunger; he wanted him so badly, needed his comfort, his arms holding him close, needed something to make the past three weeks’ insanity make sense, to take away the gnawing ache that kept him awake at night since the dreams had stopped. He wanted Wesley’s hands against his skin, wanted to taste his mouth, explore its depths, something … anything to ease the ache … the emptiness.

He was lonely, Wesley could feel it as well as the near desperation to hold another close, and he tightened his hold pulling Angel’s body into his as he eased away from the wall and closer to the bed. Whether it was compulsion or something else, Wesley didn’t know nor did he care, they moved in perfect syncopation, the heat building between them with every step. Wesley couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to; Angel needed him, moved with him towards the bed as if barely aware of his surroundings. Angel’s mouth moved over Wesley’s, hot and hungry and Wesley groaned, felt the edge of the mattress press against the back of his calf muscles as Angel’s eyes locked on his and Wesley clung to him to keep from falling backwards.

Angel pulled the fabric of Wesley’s shirt from his pants roughly, pushed the fabric aside to expose bare skin, the cool air felt like a welcome counterpoint to the heat of his body and Wesley moaned. Angel’s fingers traced a path from his throat along Wesley’s collarbone and down his chest, his touch light but Wesley felt it like a burning brand searing his skin.

Angel stepped forward, his action forcing Wesley’s knees to bend as the mattress halted him moving back any further, he eased Wesley’s body back onto the bed and Angel followed him down, covering Wesley’s body with his own. Angel’s body felt hard and heavy, his clothes felt too tight, he tore at the pants that trapped him, kept him confined and his cock surged forward as Wesley’s hands found the roped muscles of his back beneath his shirt.

Wesley could feel Angel’s erection pressed against him, he struggled with the button on his pants, released it and lifted his hips as Angel tugged the material with one hand, the other pulled on his own shirt as he shrugged it roughly over his head and tossed it to the floor. A moan escaped Wesley’s throat, deep and husky as Angel settled his weight on him once more, his hands tightened on Wesley’s hips almost to the point of pain.

“Is this what you dream about Wesley?” Angel breathed against the skin of Wesley’s throat. “Is this what you fantasise about alone in your bed at night?”

“You’re the one with all the fantasies Angel,” Wesley moaned as Angel’s teeth scraped the hollow between his neck and collarbone. “I’m just borrowing one of them for a while.”

Wesley could feel Angel, thick and hard begin to move, he lifted his hips as Angel pushed forward, his cock teasing Wesley’s as it brushed lightly against his own. The slick heat of precum coated the skin of Wesley’s inner thighs as Angel held his hips steady and lifted his head.

“Is that is a fact?” A slow smile curved Angel’s mouth and his eyes burned with intensity as he stared down in to Wesley’s face. Angel’s hips surged forward, pressed against the muscles of Wesley’s ass and his voice dropped an octave. “So, how am I doing?” Angel thrust his hips forward once more, sheathed himself to the hilt within Wesley and groaned as Wesley’s muscles clenched around him tightly.

Wesley groaned and lifted his hips off the mattress in time with Angel as he began to move, picking up the pace with deeper, stronger strokes. Wesley traced the contours of Angel’s hips, lifted one leg and brought it down across the small of Angel’s back as he pushed up against him, moved with him as Angel moved with fast sure strokes that enflamed the need within him as his hands held Wesley firmly beneath him.

Angel clasped Wesley’s wrists in his larger hands and brought them over his head, leaned in to suck on his exposed throat. “What’s it feel like Wesley?” Angel whispered against his skin as his hips kept up the rhythm. “Hot, deep, intense?” he breathed. “Is it different to how you expected or did you always fantasise about it being this way?”

“Angel …” Wesley groaned unable to find the words, his inner muscles tightened, he wanted … needed, his fingers dug into he muscles of Angel’s ass, massaged them hard as he urged him deeper as the slow burn began to build.

Angel released Wesley’s wrists and pulled his body tightly against his own, reached for his other leg and wrapped it tightly around his waist as he surged forward aggressively. Wesley’s muscles tightened around his cock as Angel urged their bodies closer so that Wesley’s back and neck arched leaving his throat vulnerable and exposed. Angel’s teeth scraped gently back and forth along Wesley’s pulse point until he moaned and lifted his hips, and Angel gripped his head with both hands, looked deep into Wes’ passion filled eyes and thrust even harder. 

Wesley grabbed at Angel’s shoulder, lifted up and took him in, pushed against Angel’s demanding thrusts, his own muscles clenched, tightened until he cried out with the intensity, his shout of release muffled against Angel’s shoulder as he pinned Wesley to the mattress and surged forward one more time.

Angel lifted his head; his eyes hooded his mouth slightly swollen, he lowered his head and claimed Wesley’s mouth in a kiss that was slow, unhurried. He savoured the taste of him, twisted his fingers in his hair and held him close as his muscles slowly began to relax. His fingers brushed lightly against Wesley’s jaw and down his neck to tangle in the fine hairs at his nape. 

A slow smile curved Angel’s mouth as he looked down at Wesley but Wes got the sudden feeling his attention was elsewhere.

“I’d say my body remembers perfectly well how to react, wouldn’t you Wes?” Angel smiled.

“Perhaps,” Wesley moaned as Angel shifted his weight and settled between Wesley’s thighs. “Then again, perhaps it could use a little more assisted recall …”


End file.
